


We Are the Masters of Our Fate

by nervousbakedown



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Catholic!Favs, Codependency, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Deal With the Devil, Demon Summoning, Established Relationship, Keepin' it 1600 era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousbakedown/pseuds/nervousbakedown
Summary: There's always a trade-off.





	We Are the Masters of Our Fate

> Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. — Matthew 4:1

 

**October 2016**

Another podcast recording done and over with, another solemn goodbye at the airport. This is always the part Jon hates most — saying goodbye to Tommy. Sure, he saw Tommy the whole weekend and Monday so they could work on _Keepin’ It 1600_. Sure, Tommy stayed at his house in West Hollywood the whole time. But it wasn’t enough; it’s never enough, and every time Jon has Tommy back for awhile it makes the pending separation worse. 

Jon walks Tommy as far as he can without having a ticket. After that, Tommy turns to face him, but both of them are hesitant to meet the other’s eyes, knowing that, in a way, not looking would be easier. Eventually, Jon does look up, and Tommy’s staring at him like he always does in these moments — intense, loving, yet somehow forlorn, his light blue eyes filled with a deep passion that never seems to cease. 

“Tommy,” Jon whispers, not knowing what else to say. 

“I know,” Tommy nods. Holding Jon’s face in his hands, he presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead, lets it linger before pulling back and leaning his forehead against Jon’s. 

Leaving Tommy was always bad once they decided to part ways post-DC, if only for the good of their company. Tommy would head things up in San Francisco, to get the business of the Silicon Valley types looking for their communications expertise, while Jon would take care of Los Angeles. It worked until it didn’t, until both of them didn’t want to be doing the work anymore, until they both missed politics and each other with a constant nagging that manifested in their chests feeling hollow 24/7. 

They’ve brought up the idea of Tommy moving, of Jon moving, even, but come back around to the idea that these things take time. So many things are up in the air — Fenway Strategies’ longevity, the podcast’s longevity, the outcome of this presidential election. They’ve even thought about giving screenwriting another go.

Jon sighs against Tommy, his hands grasping onto the fabric of Tommy’s sweatshirt. 

“Bye,” Jon murmurs. “Love you.”

Saying that still gives Jon a thrill. Something about the act of saying it makes it all the more solid, their simple way of declaring, _it’s you and me against the world._

Pulling back so he can look at Jon one last time before heading on his way, Tommy smiles closed-mouthed. “Love you too.” 

 

†††

 

The next time Jon and Tommy see each other is two weeks later. Only two weeks, yet to an outside observer they might have been separated for years. They have urgent business to take care of - a studio booked to record the podcast in half an hour - but they sit in Jon’s car in the airport parking lot, stretched over the center console, kissing as though their livelihood depended on it. 

Tommy has thoroughly messed up Jon’s hair, made him moan and scramble to get as close as he can while somehow still being in his seat. Tommy bites Jon’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, prompting them both to pull back and catch their breath. 

Jon sighs. “Fuck, I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

Knowing exactly what he means, Tommy supplies the words. “Fucking crazy?”

“Yeah,” Jon touches Tommy’s face, slowly running his fingertips over his cheekbone as a way to calm back down.

“Blame it on the election,” Tommy says.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jon laughs under his breath. He smiles. “Only one more week to worry about it.”

Tommy smiles too, moves his own hand from Jon’s hair down to caress his jaw. Tommy looks relaxed, his blonde eyelashes fanning his cheeks, his lips pleasantly red from being kissed. “What are we gonna do when she wins?”

It’s a simple question, but Jon takes a moment to think of any coherent reply that doesn’t sound like despair. They still have this distance between them, a waning sense of their current careers. The podcast continuing after the election seems unseemly. What to ground them but fixing their separation? 

“I don’t know,” Jon admits. 

Tommy pulls Jon in for another kiss, quick and soft, reassuring. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

 

†††

 

It’s cloudy in West Hollywood. Cloudy and a little chilly. Jon doesn’t mind it, though. After they record the podcast, Tommy suggests they go to the beach and spend some time alone together. The grey sky reminds him of the east coast, of early autumn weekends on the Cape. 

“You’ve gotta get down here, Tommy,” Jon says, his pinky finger interlocked with Tommy’s. “You have to move here.”

The weather means that there’s not a lot of people on the beach. All around them, sea birds and the crashing of waves and bicycles on sand. It almost feels surreal, the absence of sun and haze in the sky. What time is it?

Tommy looks around. Probably noting how weird everything looks, too, if Jon had to guess. “Come New Year’s, I will. Unless of course you wanna move up to San Francisco.”

“No,” Jon shakes his head. He’s never liked SF that much and has truly fallen for LA despite its shortcomings. “Pass.”

“That’s what I thought,” Tommy laughs. “I’m happy to come here. Although I hope it’s not like this everyday.”

“No, no,” Jon says. “You brought the Bay area clouds with you.”

Tommy laughs again, an earnest giggle that brings out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. “Really, I do have to move. I can’t be without you ever again.”

Jon slows their walk, the weight of Tommy’s words hitting him head on. Obviously, they’ll have to be apart while Tommy moves his life south, only seeing each other on the weekends, if that. Jon can survive that, even though it will surely feel like he can’t. 

“Ever?”

Tommy turns his head and meets Jon’s eyes. “Yeah, ever. This California experiment has been the first time we’ve been apart since 2005, dude.” 

Well, Jon had never thought about it like that before. No wonder they’ve felt unmoored. 

Jon looks from Tommy, to the sand in front of them and back again. Tommy keeps talking. 

“Besides Iowa I guess. Iowa may have been the best experience of my life, but it was also the worst because you weren’t there. There’s always a trade off.”

Jon remembers that year quite well. Only seeing Tommy on some weekends some of the time, feeling like time is running out for some incessant reason. He moves to take all of Tommy’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. 

“And sometimes that trade off is feeling like you’re dying,” Jon says.

Tommy nods, squeezes his hand, his blond hair blowing back in the breeze. “Exactly.”

 

†††

 

Their conversation on the beach makes Jon think of dramatic scenarios. Truth be told, he’s felt a sense of need when it comes to Tommy for a while, some deep need to do something drastic. Tommy has always made him have otherworldly desires; no biblical tale of devotion or grand philosophy of love ever made sense to Jon until he came to know Tommy. The faith bestowed upon him in childhood makes more sense now. Tommy isn’t just a saint, he’s a saint Jon would kill for, go to the ends of the earth and then some for. He’d follow him into any battle, as he has several times already. 

Admitting this to himself is an important barrier to break. To pretend he feels anything else is to do them both a disservice. Tommy must feel it, too. After all, Tommy said it himself: _I can’t be without you ever again._

Maybe they should get married. _’Til death do us part._ Jon does want to marry Tommy; yet, at the same time, marriage isn’t enough. It’s become too earthly. Too pedestrian for what they have. What if you don’t want to be parted in death?

Lying in his bed, Jon hears the sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom. Tommy is in there, probably having the same thoughts Jon is right now. Jon rolls over to where Tommy’s laptop is sitting on top of the sheets. He types in some Google search terms, pokes around the first few results of each term:

_marriage rituals_

_marriage meaning_

_life after death_

_spiritual bonds_

Jon decides to bring up this problem and the potential solutions he’s found with Tommy. He hops off the bed, walks into the steamy bathroom without a second thought. Jon strips his clothes and opens the fogged-up glass shower door. 

Tommy greets him with a soft, “Hey.”

Stepping into the shower, Jon can’t help but smile. He wraps his arms around Tommy, fingers splayed across his broad back, and kisses him under the water.

 

†††

 

The next night, Jon prays. He kneels at his bedside with his hands clasped together. An old rosary of black and maroon beads is wrapped about his fingers like a snake, the crucifix resting on the outside of his hand. He prays that he’s making the right decision, that he and Tommy both are. Jon practically shakes as he murmurs under his breath. Turning away from God like he and Tommy plan on is almost unforgivable, but what choice does Jon have?

_My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart._

_In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,_

_I have sinned against you whom I should love —_

Upon hearing footsteps, Jon flinches, startled. He looks up and finds Tommy standing in the doorway. Tommy is dressed for bed, worn white t-shirt tight against his chest.

Tommy appears to be sorry he caught Jon in such a position, but he doesn’t make to leave. He must be able to see the anxiety in Jon, the tears building in his eyes, because he walks around the bed until he’s beside Jon. Tommy kneels next to him, copying him. He reaches out and clasps his hands around Jon’s, trapping the crucifix between his palm and the back of Jon’s hand. Their eyes meet in the dim lamplight. Jon feels better. Way less of a sinner.

In a voice soft enough to put one to sleep, Tommy tells Jon everything will be okay. Jon believes him, then guides him through the rest of the prayer.

 

†††

 

On November 2nd, Jon and Tommy drive out to the desert, to the place where the urban sprawl of Los Angeles County ends and the air feels mysterious. Jon parks the car along the pale, tan dirt road. He and Tommy get out of the car, both curiously inspecting their surroundings. It’s already too quiet and arid for Jon’s liking. Luckily, if the books he and Tommy have spent the past few days combing through are correct, this won’t take long.

Jon puts his hands in his pockets while Tommy shakes the can of orange spray paint, looking at the piece of paper in his hand — a guide to the necessary sigils they need to draw to summon a demon. Tommy crouches down a bit before he starts to draw, close to the ground so the lines are more solid. He coughs a few times from the paint fumes, leading Jon to volunteer to finish once Tommy has drawn the first two shapes. 

Tommy passes the paint and paper over to Jon. He then gets a knife out of his jeans pocket. Jon read that the most surefire way to summon a demon was to use blood and the sigils, as opposed to just burning something like animal bones.

Jon finishes drawing the last sigil and looks to Tommy. 

“You ready?” Tommy asks, holding the knife to his own palm. 

Jon nods, the signal Tommy needs to press the blade into his skin. He doesn’t go that far, that deep, just enough to draw a few steady drops of blood. He presses his hand into the last sigil, right in the center over the ground, hissing at the feeling of the fine dirt on his raw flesh. 

In the silent moments afterward, Jon is wondering if this is all bullshit until he hears something like footsteps behind them. Both Jon and Tommy turn toward the sound. Tommy shakes the hand he cut, in the hope of getting some of the dirt off. 

The demon doesn’t look like what Jon anticipated. She looks like an everyday person, a woman in her thirties with brown eyes, dressed in all black — black motorcycle jacket, jeans, and boots. She smiles in greeting at Jon and Tommy, her curly hair moving with her as she walks. 

“Well aren’t you two a sight,” she says, her voice clear and amplified although she didn’t appear to try to speak loud at all. “What can I do for you boys?”

“Uh, hi,” Tommy says, waving hesitantly at her. Despite both his and Tommy’s insistence on this, Tommy seems a little afraid now that he knows demons and their summoning rites are all too real. Jon can’t blame him.

Tommy continues, “Do you know, or, can you help us with, making a deal for…”

Jon cuts in once it’s clear Tommy doesn’t quite know how to describe it succinctly. “Immortality.”

The demon sighs, puts her hands on her hips. “Of course. Who’s dying?”

Jon and Tommy exchange a look. Jon watches Tommy’s eyebrows knit together as they both try and figure out what to say. 

“Uh—”

“No one,” Tommy says. “Neither of us are _dying_ right now.”

“We just want to live together forever. As a couple.”

The demon purses her lips and smiles. She nods, points at the two of them, affirming she knows what they’re talking about. 

“So we’ve got a pair of star-crossed lovers here,” she says. “I gotta say, you guys don’t exactly look the type.”

Tommy shrugs, smiles over at Jon. Jon catches his eye, feeling giddy like it’s 2008 all over again just from looking at him. 

“Well, we are,” Tommy mumbles.

“Very,” Jon agrees. 

A warm breeze passes through at the same time the demon steps closer to them, talks to them earnestly as she begins to lay down the ground rules. 

“It’s your lucky day, then — I’m sorry, what are your names?” 

“I’m Jon, that’s Tommy.”

The demon crosses her arms. “It’s your lucky day, then, Jon and Tommy. I can make a deal for you to live forever. If you’re willing to make it, of course.”

Jon tilts his head. His eyebrows raise in confusion. “What do you mean?”

The demon laughs, positively bemused. She laughs so hard she closes her eyes, and when she opens them they’ve turned all black from corner to corner. Once she stops laughing, they change back to normal-looking-human eyes.

“It’s going to cost you. You can’t have each other forever, body and soul, without paying the price.”

Jon reaches for Tommy’s hand. He’s not dissuaded and, upon feeling Tommy squeeze his hand, knows he’s not either. 

“Okay. Name it.”

The demon straightens up her posture and speaks, calm and measured. This must really be her job, just like what Jon read about, having done it so many times it sounds rehearsed. “First and foremost, this is a blood oath, so I’ll need you two to hold out your hands and face each other.”

Jon and Tommy do as told, letting go of one another’s hands and holding them out, palms up. They stand and face each other. Jon looks at Tommy and knows deep within his being that, no matter what, this’ll be worth it. 

The demon stands next to them. She nods in Tommy’s direction. “Can you hand me the knife in your pocket?”

Tommy reaches into his pocket. “How’d you know I had that?”

“Your hand. The fact that you successfully summoned me,” she shrugs as she takes it. 

Tommy huffs out a laugh under his breath. She is quite funny. 

The demon steps in close to them, reaches over their hands. She starts with Jon, holding his hand by the wrist as she slices a deep line into his open palm. Jon swears, hisses at the pain, screws his face up. He feels a little faint, watching his skin split open like that. He’s not as queasy once the knife is gone, but it hurts even worse as the blood starts to flow. 

She moves onto Tommy, going over the small cut Tommy gave himself earlier and making it more profound. Tommy makes a noise of disgust. 

The demon steps back. As she gives them their next instructions, she uses the knife to gesture. 

“As I’ve explained, know that this doesn’t come free,” the demon says. “You will have to give something up — condemn two other souls. Or, perhaps wish something on the world that would otherwise be left to fate.”

Tommy speaks up first. “Like what?”

Looking up at the blue sky, the demon ponders a bit before looking back to the two lovers on Earth. “Like... the results of a presidential election.”

“What?” Jon scoffs. “No!”

“Pacts like this are expensive these days, darling. We can’t just hand them out.”

Tommy nervously looks between Jon and the demon. “How would… how would that work?” 

After a moment’s pause, the demon turns on her heels and walks behind Tommy, puts her knife in her back pocket.

“Every single statistical model on Earth and in heaven has Clinton winning. Not to mention it’s been predetermined by the big man himself—“

“God?” Jon interjects. 

The demon nods, having come around to the other side of Jon and Tommy, standing at the bridge their two extended arms have made. “Yes, and as I’m sure you can gather, we demons quite enjoy fucking with the plans of the man upstairs.”

“So what do we do?” Tommy asks.

Sighing, the demon seems exasperated by all of Jon and Tommy’s questions. “So, you agree to turn things in the other direction. You change the course of fate.” 

“Okay,” Jon says, and the demon promptly grabs hold of both his and Tommy’s wrists in either of her hands. 

“Trump wins, and you have each other forever. Deal?” 

Jon and Tommy meet each other’s eyes at the same time. The air is still but Jon feels a shiver down his spine. Part of him wants to pull Tommy aside, to talk this over, but what would be the point in that? They’ve already talked it over. There’s a million and one scenarios that could begin the day after the election that alter history. What if someone else makes a deal with the Devil tomorrow and reverses the result again? 

Jon looks into Tommy’s eyes, and knows that he’s thinking the same thing. Jon sees the rest of his life with Tommy — and the forever after that — laid out in front of him, clear as day. The ends justify the means. There’s always a trade-off. 

Tommy is the first one to nod in the affirmative. He looks at the demon out of the corner of his eye, leading Jon to do the same. She instructs Jon to place his hand in Tommy’s, the fresh open cut over the mirrored wound on Tommy’s hand.

Jon squeezes Tommy’s hand, reaching up with his other hand to push them together like a vice. Tommy does the same. The wind kicks up again, and the hot desert sun disappears behind fast moving clouds. Pressing their hands together hurts at first, but then feels pleasurable somehow, Jon thinks. He feels something static in the air, as though a storm is coming in. This must be the supernatural, otherworldly forces he’s longed for at work.

Pulling Tommy closer, the pleasure thrumming throughout Jon’s body escalates into a kind of euphoria. 

Tommy rubs his thumb over the back of Jon’s hand. He leans down and presses his forehead against Jon’s.

“Deal,” Tommy whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> this was no doubt the product of watching too much supernatural and twilight in my formative years


End file.
